


Mio Amico

by Fanfictionwriter117



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Fluff, Gen, Homeless Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 18:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6969103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfictionwriter117/pseuds/Fanfictionwriter117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A restaurant owner discovers a young homeless man sitting out in an alleyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mio Amico

"Ordering! I've got one Pizza Margarita, one Pizza al Prosciutto and a side of garlic bread!" A woman's voice called loudly through the kitchen, her Italian accent thick and rich.

"...Pizza al Prosciutto, side of garlic bread." A male voice repeated, pinning the order.

"Order from table 34, L'Atomica, extra peppers!"

Beyond the stone built archway where the restaurant's orders were placed, the kitchen was a bustling hive of activity. One man, his black hair tied back in a bun whistled as he expertly pressed and kneaded numerous piles of white dough into perfectly rounded circles before basting each of them with a thick, tomato base before being topped and left to slowly cook inside a large stone bake oven.

"Two Pizza ai Quattro Formaggi!" The same woman's voice called again through the archway.

"Coming up!" He called, pushing the newly made pizzas into the oven.

Pulled from the oven, pizzas of various proportions were loaded onto wooden boards, side dishes placed alongside them as salads were drizzled with olive oil. That was how it was the entire night. That was how it was every night. Orders came in, orders came out. Every night, the place was bustling with activity. The chatter and echo of laughter throughout the restaurant, the cackling of flames from the stone bake oven, the chopping of ingredients.

For Antonio Agazzi, this was his life.

Situated in the heart of New York City, Agazzi's Pizzeria was and had been a family run business for generations. Passed down from his father and his grandfather before him who had started the family business in Naples before coming to America, he now ran it with his own children who would one day inherit the family business.

"Order up!" Another order served hot and garnished. He smiled to himself. Another order, another satisfied customer. Everything in his pizzeria ran like clockwork, thanks to his staff who to him were the best of the best. It was one thing owning the place, it was another thing to manage it and without them, he could safely say that the uphold of his business' reputation would suffer.

Dusting his flour covered hands, he watched as his staff worked hastily to get each order prepared and served on time. With everything supposedly under control, it wouldn't hurt if he slipped out for one minute. What could happen?

Quietly, he slipped out the restaurant's side door which lead into a narrow alleyway. Taking the cigarette he kept tucked behind his ear, he took a long drag, slowly exhaling as he looked up at the night sky. It was a clear night, the stars and moon shining.

"Bella notte," he breathed with a smile. It was a beautiful night.

Stubbing out the remains of his cigarette, he turned to go back in before something caught his eye. In the darkest corner of the alleyway, he saw what appeared to be a man, sitting hunched against the brick wall. He sat with his legs drawn into his chest, his head resting on his knees with both arms wrapped around them in what appeared to be an effort to conserve warmth.

Standing perfectly still, he continued to watch the man who seemed to become aware that he was no longer alone. Lifting his head up, his eyes met the other man's. They looked tired, deprived of sleep. His greasy hair hangs limply from under his baseball cap, draping over his eyes like a curtain. Looking at him, Antonio can see no hostility but he wouldn't doubt with the way the man is holding himself he wouldn't run the moment he made any sort of movement towards him. He didn't need much to go on to know the man was homeless, taking shelter in the alley.

Slowly, he pulled out a cigarette box from his back pocket. Taking one out, he showed it to the man, never taking his eyes off him.

"Smoke, my friend?" He asked, quietly.

The young man remained where he was, motionless but guarded. He had every right to be cautious. Living on the streets had taught him that lesson. He couldn't understand why this man, a complete stranger was offering him something. Everything he had he'd either had to steal or beg for.

The man was clearly anxious of him so Antonio tried a different approach. Crouching down with his arm still extended, holding the offering, he smiled, waiting. Determining that the man posed no threat, the homeless man got up, slowly approaching him with cautious steps. It wasn't until he was within feet of him did Antonio get a better look at him and to his sympathy, also smell him. Illuminated under the street lamp above them, he saw the young man's several layers of clothing were dishevelled and worn, torn in some places. His cheeks were gaunt, indicating that he had gone at least a few days without food. He also wore a backpack, fastened across the top of his chest.

He had smears of dirt across his face and it was evident that he had not shaved in a while from the growth of facial hair.

He couldn't help but smile as he took the cigarette from his hand. Though he did so slowly, as though still unsure. Lighting the cigarette for him, ignoring the way he flinched at the flame, he watched the young man take a long, slow drag. He exhaled deeply, eyes closed as smoke came out his nose. His breath suddenly hitched, sending him into a violent coughing fit which almost caused him to double over. Antonio watched with concerned eyes as the man regained his composure, throwing away the cigarette, his eyes watering from the coughing.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his tone slightly worried.

The man didn't answer. Instead he lay his head against the wall, looking up at the sky, seemingly wishing to be anywhere else than where he was now. It wasn't until his stomach rumbled, causing him to wince at the shooting pains that had been plaguing him for days. Placing a hand on his stomach, he winced again.

"You're hungry," Antonio muttered, his heart sinking at the fact. He nodded. The poor man was starving.

"Oh, povero ragazzo," he said sadly, covering his mouth. The man had demons, that much was obvious. Tentatively reaching out, ignoring the way he flinched, he placed a gentle hand on his back in an effort to guide him indoors. As apprehensive as he was, it was the thought of a warm meal which finally coaxed him to move one foot in front of the other.

"There we go," Antonio praised, smiling as he guided him into the restaurant.

It was the instant aroma of food that hit him as soon as he came inside. There were people, oblivious to his presence, too busy with the tasks at hand to notice powdering fresh dough, chopping vegetables and seasoning breads before putting them in a large round oven only to come out sizzling, crisped and melted. He licked his lips, mouth instantly watering.

"Smells good, eh?" He chuckled, patting him on the back. He was lead through the kitchen and into the dining area where he was given a booth beside the archway that lead into the kitchen.

Handing him a menu, he ran though all that was available to him before asking him what he would like. Staring at the menu, as though looking through it he eventually pointed to a seemingly random option.

"Chef speciale," Antonio mused in approval. "Good choice, my friend!" When asked what beverage he would like, the man just shrugged, avoiding eye contact.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" He asked, promoting. The man shook his head. He clearly didn't like making decisions.

Taking the menu, he promised to return shortly with his food before leaving for the kitchen. Placing his order, he rubbing the bridge of his nose, sighing wearily. There was something about the man but he didn't know what. All he knew was that he was homeless, hungry and quite possibly suffering from a mental disorder, none of which was the young man's fault, which made the situation even sadder.

Looking out into the restaurant, he seen that the young man had become slightly more relaxed. He had removed his backpack and his baseball cap, scratching his head.

When his order was ready, Antonio brought it to his table, unable to suppress his smile seeing the young man's eyes widen at the sight before him. On a wooden board sat a large pizza, steaming hot and topped with a generous assortment of coloured peppers, ham, mushroom, onion, bacon and pepperoni, all topped with a light coating of parmesan cheese. Beside the pizza was a smaller wooden board there was a side order of garlic focaccia and a large cola with ice.

The young man swallowed thickly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a meal. The closest thing to a meal he's had in days was a half eaten hotdog he'd found in a dumpster and even that left him hungry afterwards. He watched as the man placed the meal down in front of him, yet despite this hunger, he didn't dare make a move.

He looked up at the man who simply nodded to his meal. "Enjoy."

Needing no further confirmation, he grabbed a slice, stuffing it in his mouth. Barely finished his first slice, he grabbed for another. Closing his eyes, he moaned. It had been so long since he had felt comfort like this.

So focused on the food, he didn't notice the old chef slip away, retreating back the kitchen where he continued to watch him. He ate like it was his last meal, hunched as though afraid someone would suddenly come and take it from him but he understood. Who knew where his next meal would be coming from? The man, however, seemed to be aware of this as Antonio watched him take what remaining pizza slices and chunks of bread he still had and tuck them into his backpack.

Thunder rumbled suddenly from outside, diverting his attention as storm clouds gathered with the promise of rain. When he glanced back to the table he saw there was just a vacant booth. He rubbed his eyes only to still find it vacated.

Approaching the booth, he seen the wooden boards piled neatly on top of one another along with an empty glass. Beside the pile, a folded napkin.

_Thanks_

**Author's Note:**

> I had this little idea in my head and finally got around to writing it down as I do love Homeless Bucky...or any type of Bucky!
> 
> Feedback is always welcome and if you guys have any ideas or prompts, give me a message! X
> 
> Italian translation in the story:
> 
> "Povero ragazzo," means "You poor boy,"


End file.
